


Doing It Right

by gatekat, Verilidaine



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Alien Mythology/Religion, M/M, New Prime, OC centric, Setting Headcanon, Spark Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-14
Updated: 2016-04-14
Packaged: 2018-06-02 06:54:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6556087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gatekat/pseuds/gatekat, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Verilidaine/pseuds/Verilidaine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One story on how Orion became Optimus Prime from the perspective of the shadow who arranged for it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Doing It Right

Sucre relaxed in his chair next to his lover's heir-apparent in the too-aptly designated war-room. This was where any planning that spanned more than a couple of cities took place. This one spanned the empire, though it was focused on Cybertron's agents more than those from the finally-stabilized border.

"Before we start, there are introductions to be made," Whiplash began as the only one who was fully aware of how vetted the two new faceplates were. "Prowl of Praxus, who has taken over tactical operations and mission management of that center from Lord Tasi. "

Prowl inclined his doorwings in a formal greeting to the room.

Whiplash nodded, then shifted his gaze to the next newcomer. "And Stellar of Vos. I know we are all aware of how strained relations are with Vos, but with her help, there is a chance we will be able to take the Procession through."

There were murmured and silent greetings from around the room as everyone relaxed.

"Since we're all here, is there any intel worth bringing up now?" Whiplash asked.

"Unofficial reports from Praxus are still favorable towards the Procession. Little has changed in that regard," Prowl said. "While views of the Prime continue to cool, views of the government in general, both of Praxus and Imperial, remain stable. It is agreed within my division that the Imperial government has largely escaped the damage the Prime has caused elsewhere because of Praxus's limited involvement with the Imperial government and the efforts of both the royal house and several noble houses to mitigate what things can not be kept out. The resources ISO has been able to channel to them for that purpose have been critical in maintaining their efforts. At this time all imperial arrest warrants have the force of law for outsiders. Those for Praxians require the Lord of Law to agree with their validity."

Whiplash smiled. "Nothing has changed in that regard," he said. "Personally I'm more concerned about Vos."

Stellar canted her wings. "You are right to be so. Most Vosians still consider Helix and Praxus favorably, but they are the only ones. There is a chance of the Procession being allowed; it depends on when. The only possible angle is to convince the Trine Elect that if the Matrix chooses a Seeker, they would be permitted to bear it. Most don't believe that." 

"Because politics has seen to it that they would be correct for many generations. This one is different because the real Matrix, not the display one, will be in the Procession. I'm not sure anything would make me happier than if the next Prime came from Vos or Helix. It would go a long way towards healing one of the deeper rifts in the empire," Whiplash both agreed and reminded her of just why this extraordinary meeting was happening. "Now, if there anything any of us can to do improve the situation while Sentinel still rules?"

"Do what you can to shield Seekers and other flight frames from being trapped far from home," Stellar said with a seriousness few could follow. "If they are Imperial prisoners, get them sent to their home city for their sentence. If they are convicted in another city, pressure who needs to be pressured to have them do their time at home." 

"That might be a good general system to quietly put in place," Prowl spoke with calm thoughtfulness. "Every city has at least one Imperial prison already."

"Some may be too high profile to manage, though I believe it should be doable for the most part," Whiplash hummed thoughtfully. "The Imperial prisoners will be by far easier to transfer. They fall under my purview after all. Those in civilian prison will be more difficult to manage."

There was a lingering moment while everyone regarded each other. They all knew what needed to be said, but which one was brave enough to do it?

Whiplash gave them the time, endlessly fascinated by this type of social behavior. Much to his surprise, it was not one of the more senior officers, but Prowl who spoke up.

"Prisoner exchanges," the Praxian said softly and still completely levelly. "We've done them for ages during war of every kind. Whether it is a mech for a mech of similar status or a mech for goods, it would not be difficult to set up a standard rate of exchange based on how much the city values getting its citizens back and how much it costs the criminal's city to sustain them. I have much of that information already, though I would welcome more accurate assessments for a plan draft."

While everyone else processed just how far outside the box Prowl had gone, Stellar began to snicker, then broke down laughing with bright, joyful amusement that really confused everyone.

It was only after a moment, and a couple shuddering wing movements that the commander of Helix's ISO seemed to get it and also broke out laughing.

"I take it my reputation has proceeded me," Prowl said dryly.

"Only a little," Whiplash chuckled. "It's a good idea, though. Gets mecha home, fosters communication and positive relation between the cities. We need that right now."

"Such a step would mean greater respect from the Trine Elect," Stellar said. "Even in prison, everyone in the Flock should be close to home."

"Who objects, or knows the lords would?" Whiplash asked the room when the fliers were finally settled.

"Give us a little time to figure that out," Stellar said. "I'm sure there will be some."

"Are we waiting for anything other than Sentinel's deactivation at this point?" Jazz asked from his seat slightly away from the table.

"Not really," Whiplash admitted. "It's been at the stage of trying to keep the Procession going through every city for a while now. We have easy access to both the Matrix and the fake. We all have agents ready to protect the chosen one the moment the Matrix selects him in addition to those that will be part of the Procession protection detail."

"What happens if the Prime is out of our reach when the Matrix needs to be retrieved?" Prowl asked. 

Whiplash's visor flickered in surprise. "The Prime is never without guards. Our guards. We know where the Matrix rests between Primes. How could it be out of our reach?"

"Should the Prime deactivate during his religious duties, could the Priests not retrieve the Matrix before ISO agents?" Prowl asked. "As I understand it, their security is substantial." 

"It is. I have agents and a plan in place that can handle it," Whiplash said, vague both because it wasn't good to say it even here and to see how well Prowl picked up on things unsaid. "It is not ideal, but it can be done. This is too important not to do what has to happen to make it work. Cybertron won't survive another corrupt leader."

Prowl nodded. "I understand," he said.

"We will wait this out as long as we have to," Whiplash said. "Now, for the rest of today, we're going over all the contingencies to check for consistency with recent construction in every approved city." His claws tapped on the tabletop to pull up a holograph map of Iacon. "Everyone settle in. We're going to be here for a while." 

* * *

"Frag," Whiplash muttered, looking between two datapads. He'd been staring at them for joors, and the movements still made no sense.

"You need to take a break at some point." Hands slipped onto his shoulders, Sucre's voice was still staticky from recharge. "Have you even moved since I lay down?"

Whiplash leaned into the contact with a frame-sigh. "No. I can't make sense of what they're doing. How can it not make sense to _me_ after all I've seen?"

"The same way it doesn't make sense the the dozens of tacticians you've had pouring over it for the last decaorn," Sucre said. "You've seen enough to know that sometimes things just aren't comprehensible. You being exhausted _and_ not understanding it isn't going to help anything." 

With a deep sigh of acquiescence Whiplash looked up at his lover. "Share the berth with me for a while?"

"I thought you would never ask," Sucre said, nuzzling Whiplash's neck and leading him up to his pedes. The black minibot hummed with pleasure at the contact as he submitted with complete willingness to being guided and cared for.

It was only a few paces to the berth they shared, separate more than together most orns, and Sucre easily got Whiplash stretched out on the padding. He settled in next to him, putting one hand on Whiplash's neck and linking their fingers together with the other. "Tense," he murmured as he started carefully feeling at the cables in his lover's neck. 

"The civil war I tried so hard to head off is here. It has legitimate grievances. It has momentum. It has a leader. To win will cost millions of sparks. To lose will cost far more." Whiplash pressed hard into the contact and shook with much the same teek as before Nova had been put down. "He's _right_ , Sucre. I probably can't see because I agree."

"He's also slaughtering civilians," Sucre said quietly. "Or at least his army is, and he isn't stopping it."

"I know. It's not managed well. If only we could have gotten him before he was Megatron. This war could have been managed," Whiplash forced a deep ventilation cycle through his entire frame. "A hit put out on the three leaders needs to happen."

"None of the tacticians on this saw it well enough to know how to stop it either, not just you. _Prowl_ couldn't manage a tactical plan to stop this," Sucre nuzzled him until Whiplash began to settle.

"When I'm rested, I'm going out. It's time for me to do my function again." Whiplash said softly as he began to relax with a plan in place.

"I'll be ready to go when you are," Sucre said, working his thumb against a tense cable.

"Always could count on you," Whiplash whispered with a pulse of deep affection and trust through their fields.

* * *

Sucre roused before his lover, and relaxed into a processor set that would accept pleasure or rejection of it smoothly. He wanted to merge a final time before the hunt. He wanted to bring Whiplash to awareness surrounded by pleasure and care. It was likely to be the last either had for some time.

He pressed his mouth to his mate's neck and slipped his fingers into a hip joint, playing at the wires. It was a testament to the trust he'd earned over their long vorns together that even without being aware yet, Whiplash's frame moved into the contact with willing eagerness.

Sucre smiled and continued his teasing and coaxing until he felt Whiplash's field start to rouse with his frame. "Hey lover," he murmured. 

"Hey, love," Whiplash moaned when he'd booted enough for it. "Will never tire of booting to you."

"You're just saying that because it's been forever," Sucre chuckled, then grinned at the way Whiplash's frame shuddered as he drew his fingers over his plating. "Like playing an old instrument."

"And you are the master," Whiplash arched into the next set of touches with a sound that was as much relief for the care as pleasure it caused.

"Mhmm." Sucre nuzzled against Whiplash's rapidly warming plating. "Think I've made an art out of it by now." His fingers brushed lower again, going behind his lover's leg, two fingers pushing forward into the gap between his thighs, tapping a playful rhythm along the seams where the hip and leg met. It caused a shiver of anticipation to ripple through Whiplash's frame and his armor loosened, offering up deeper access in an act of trust nearly as intense as exposing his spark.

Sucre hummed happily and dipped his fingers in. His fingers were slender enough to get into the offered joint, something not common for minibots, but something he loved to spoil his lover with. That Whiplash was always so open with his pleasure and desires here in private made it such a sweet exchange. Giving that pleasure fed something in Sucre's deepest coding, and likely his spark. Giving it to Whiplash definitely fed his spark and filled it with a bright joy he could feel Whiplash's enjoyment of.

Between them they made pleasure into a feedback loop without trying, each relishing the pleasure they gave the other.

"Just like an instrument," Sucre purred against Whiplash's neck. His hand moved up, finding the seam of Whiplash's chest. It unlatched and the plates began to part almost immediately. "I think it's time to start a crescendo." 

"Oh yes," Whiplash moaned with a surge through his field that tried to express just how much he wanted to share sparks.

"Mhmm, so much yes," Sucre murmured, getting his fingers on Whiplash's crystal. He felt spark energy lap at his plating and parted his own chest in answer, shuddering against Whiplash's back, close to overload just from feeling him so close. 

::... on Iacon!:: The comm signal crashed into and through Whiplash's awareness no matter how high his charge was or how badly he wanted _just a few more kliks_. He put a bit of his processor on working out how someone who didn't have the access code could do it. Another part was focused on coping with his frame and desires so he could function during whatever emergency was here.

::Assault on Iacon!:: This time the full message got to him, and he recognized the voice.

Prowl.

It figured, somehow. He'd work out why later.

::Whiplash, please respond,:: the voice on the other end of the comm was losing his infamous calm even as his warning to others turned the entire facility and palace above it into a hive of activity. ::Iacon is under attack.::

::I'll be there,:: Whiplash said, sitting up. Oh _Primus_ it almost hurt to feel Sucre's fingers slip away.

Sucre relaxed back on the berth with a quick x-vent. "Should I stay here until I get orders?"

Whiplash shook his helm. "I have your orders. The target is Iacon. I need you to stay with the Prime to ensure we get the Matrix first. Defend him if you can, but your primary concern is the Matrix," he ordered gravely. "He has guards to extinguish for him."

"I'm on it," Sucre said, getting up to his pedes. He leaned in to give Whiplash a quick kiss on his jaw before they both headed out, prepared to tackle the chaos of a nightmare. 

They walked together until the juncture where Whiplash went down to the control center and Sucre went up to the Palace and the Prime. All around them was the same aggressive, angry energy that had surged and flowed when Praxus had fallen and so many of their kin had extinguished and portals to the outside were blocked off.

Whiplash was having nightmares of that all over again, only worse, since this was where the spark and core of so much of Cybertron's shadow and underrealm was anchored in Iacon. Umbra did not take the violent challenge to her realm kindly, and now that same enemy was near her helm and spark. In the back of his processor he wondered if she was upset or threatened enough to haul a chunk of her frame to the surface and lash out.

He very much hoped she wouldn't.

"Report," he barked as he stepped into the command center and began picking up data channels. Despite his mood, he had to approve of how Prowl had handled things up to now. Despite the frantic, upset energy everywhere, it was ordered. He knew the mech well enough to know that he'd do much better in the regular army, but he wasn't about to let this tactical gift go to some general that would either not use him or worse, use him against the Prime. At least here he could protect the asset that Prowl was.

"Decepticon troops have engaged with our outer border line," said the first agent to fall in step with him. He had to bend over to come close to Whiplash's optic level. "They came out of nowhere, we're still trying to figure out how they got on top of us like that."

"Figure it out later," Whiplash snapped. "That's not what we need right now. What is Sentinel doing?"

"...Being protected," the agent said.

"Good. Perfect. He'd be useless in this anyway." Whiplash shouldered his way through the gathered crowd outside the tactical center, hissing when still-sensitive plating rubbed up against the mecha around him. Even though it wasn't his intent, it did have the effect of moving most mecha a bit away from him. Just enough that his field wasn't quite so snapping.

It took a moment of looking to spot Prowl. The Praxian was well-concealed by the array of cables plugged into him and the displays, some three or more deep, feeding him visible information to augment what was going directly into his processor. Despite his optics being on, Whiplash had doubts the mech was at all aware of the room around his frame.

"Let's get this done with," Whiplash grumbled and jumped up to a standard sized chair and reached up to plug into the panel. ~I'd like to hear our status from you,~ he said once he was synced up with Prowl. Watching the Praxian's processors from this angle was even more intense than watching the output as he directed every resource he could get ahold of.

~We will win. It will cost forty percent of the defense force and between twenty and twenty-three percent of the city.~ Prowl responded rather distantly. ~I am doing what I can to improve both numbers. It will not be a repeat. Dump your charge to me.~

~That obvious?~ Whiplash asked dryly, but very gratefully shunted the excess into the console and watched with fascination as it was greedily absorbed by the tac-net Prowl supported. ~Have you detected any movement from Umbra, or heard any reports that might suggest it?~

~No reports, though she is performing more internal transformations than usual. She even reached out to me directly with access I do not have,~ Prowl's tone was somewhere between unsettled and grateful. ~I agree she is considering it. No indications that Iacon or Archeía are moving either.~

Whiplash reached out to the agents who were connected underground with orders to keep a close watch on their metrotitan and home. He keyed into the monitors over the Prime's location, and thankfully, Sentinel was still in his library. Guards were posted at every entrance leading to it, agents and palace guards were inside. No movement that way. 

Good. 

As long as it remained that way, the mecha invading would be sent away soon.

* * *

~Shifting Unit E from stealth to active engagement,~ Prowl reported as part of his ongoing highlights to Whiplash as the battle dragged on. ~Any progress on getting me automated control of the city's defensive batteries?~

~Some, but the defensive force isn't happy about it,~ Jet Track reported. ~They don't want to give control to ISO, concerned what we might do with them. We might be able to get the last set of codes, but only if our core gets threatened.~

~Expected,~ Prowl grumbled, and despite the sound there was no malice in him over it.

A boom rocked the room, set deep not only under street level but deep inside a metrotitan. There was a moment of utter stillness as everyone sought an answer, then the datalines erupted with damage and casualty reports.

Whiplash swore as the reports began to pile up. ~Palace center, report.~

Nothing. He tried to pull up the surveillance, and pinged every agent he'd had in the area.

_Nothing._

~Whiplash. Go. The palace is gone.~ Prowl pressed urgency towards his commander in a carefully shielded communication with the first visual reports from the area. ~No response from inside, guards, agents or the Prime.~

Whiplash didn't need to be told. He was already on the ground and running, and once he was in the open, transformed and darting through the rest of the ground troops who were also heading that way. The central palace was still in the process of collapsing, and there were standing orders not to enter until stability had been secured. Only a few medics had been cleared to try to get to the Prime.

Even so, no one stopped Whiplash from joining them. His fast, small, ultra-light frame able to cross weakened architecture where even the lightest of medics had to tread far more carefully.

He knew he was leading the way, and considered it part of his duty. They may not be able to follow him, but if he couldn't pass no one but a microbot could.

~Sir, we have a civilian host offering his symbiots to assist. One flight frame, a feline, a basher and two bipeds,~ Prowl pinged him. ~Blaster. No negative notes on him. Jazz likes him.~

~Good enough,~ Whiplash said. ~Have him direct two into leading the medics through, send the rest to make their way in to report on the status of the Prime.~

~Done,~ Prowl replied and dropped the line back to standby.

There was fire around Whiplash as he pressed deeper, knowing where the Prime had been and with a solid idea of how the palace would respond to an explosion at its base. Off the main comm grid, he continued to ping Sucre to respond, even with just a ping of functioning. A tiny flight frame came in from behind him, but it was using active sensors and sending out both vocal and comm pings asking for functioning.

Whiplash heard a weak cry in reply to the avian and it dove to the spot. A feline and biped came in Whiplash's sensor range as he passed the avian. He knew the process. They would check for status, feed reading and location-path to the medics following them then move on. If this was any other building, he'd be doing that too.

A weak automated emergency ping finally reached Whiplash, then a second and third. One was a frame retrieval, but the other two were live. Unconscious but functional. The designations attached were agents near the library.

Whiplash squirmed through a space that was barely big enough for even him and followed the ping direction. Sucre's ping was still going unanswered. He saw the grayed pede of Sentinel Prime first and followed it. Sucre would have been close. 

A flash of soft silver in the otherwise gray rubble. Whiplash was able to make out the small frame covered in metal flakes, and as the rubble moved and shifted, still showed the living metal beneath.

He pinged the location to the medics, then crawled to Sentinel's chest.

Already pried open, the spark chamber smashed. The Matrix was gone. ::Target missing,:: he commed back to tactical and got a simple acknowledgment ping. He slid down Sentinel's frame and went back to Sucre. Color still in his armor, but medics might as well have been halfway across the planet. 

Containing the trembling of his spark, Whiplash began searching the subspace pockets he could reach, though internally he was preparing to give as much as he could to keep his lover functioning until help arrived. First he had to find the Matrix. Then assess the other agent. Then he could tend to the one under his fingers. He was just praying that Sucre had managed to retrieve it in what must have been chaos; otherwise, he would have to leave both agents here.

Nothing was more important than retrieving the Matrix.

When his fingers closed around warm metal, Whiplash x-vented in relief. He knew the teek of the Matrix anywhere, and immediately left Sucre to go check the injuries of the other downed mech. It didn't take long to know that Chard was stable. The minibot tank had the armor and frame to take a building dropping on him and still walk out once he booted up. Something that was already beginning.

Whiplash plugged in and ran a rapid diagnostic and pinged the results to the medical crew, then hurried back to Sucre and the Matrix. The rumbling around him made him dive over his lover, hoping that if the debris ceiling collapsed they could at least keep the Matrix protected. He curled ... And nothing happened. It wasn't going to stay up for much longer, though.

::I have the Matrix,:: Whiplash commed as he moved it into his own subspace. If they were crushed his frame had a better chance of protecting it. 

::Good,:: Prowl replied. ::If it safe to move either agent, go here,:: he sent a set of coordinates that were nearby.

::Trying to assess,:: Whiplash said, reaching around under Sucre to plug into a medical port. He brushed past the firewalls and ran a diagnostic. Crushed armor, broken and oozing internals, bad dents and enough lost energon to hold him in stasis. Even so, Whiplash's long experience said that it was safer to move him than stay. Not by much, but automated repairs had sealed much of the leaking and he knew how to move a damaged mech so nothing new was pierced.

If there was time to come back, Chard was definitely stable enough to move. He was also more likely to survive a collapse than the courtesan's frame was, so Whiplash could move Sucre first, settling both tactical and spark-deep concerns at the same time.

He got his arms under the limp frame and started the long, slow trek back to safety.

* * *

Sucre would have been content to savor the pleasure of Whiplash in their berth and in a mood to snuggle, but he knew his lover and even now his courtesan coding insisted he help the other settle.

"What's going on in there?" he murmured, brushing his fingers over Whiplash's forehelm.

"So many parts to keep in motion. So many variables I can't control," he leaned into his lover. "It's just command jitters with what's at stake. This is the most important op of my existence."

"Everything that can be planned is planned down to the nanoklik," Sucre said. "Want to talk the variables over?"

"Sure. You can see what I can't sometimes. The biggest one is the potential for a priest, a _real_ one, to realize which Matrix is which and that he's next to the real one before it chooses," Whiplash sighed. "I can only be grateful for the travesty that is the modern priesthood."

"They have the fake in custody right now, right?" Sucre asked. "The fake that they think is the real, not the fake they still think is the fake, I mean."

Whiplash nodded, humming a little when Sucre traced the connection points of his visor and Whiplash flicked his optics off with an inaudible sound of pleasure at the care.

"Then we can at least trust that they won't notice before the tour. It's a priest on the tour you're more worried about?"

"Yes. I doubt there are a handful of true priests left. Maybe there aren't any left. It's not something I know how to tell," he relaxed as the visor connection points were gently rubbed. "That's probably the worst part. I really have no clue how many risks there are, just that right now none are aware of what we're doing. Then there's protecting the Prime-select against all those in power who are going to be very, very unhappy about his continued existence. The only good part there is that once the Matrix selects, I'm confident enough that the priesthood will protect and back him politically. There might be traitors, but their very existence centers on worship of Primus through the Prime."

"Hopefully if a _true_ priest senses the Matrix, he will allow it continue uncontested," Sucre said. 

"That is my hope, and the opposite my fear," Whiplash murmured. "I don't like that I can't be there, but I can't treat this as any more important than any other Procession."

"There will be agents there," Sucre said. "Agents _you_ trained, and that you trust." 

"The best I have for the most important mission I've ever overseen," Whiplash agreed, then turned his helm to kiss his lover's fingers. "I just need to remember that. They're good. Mecha I trusted to hold Cybertron together without me. They won't fail."

"They'll do you proud, as they always have, even into the Well," Sucre murmured, and leaned in to kiss Whiplash's forehelm. 

"They will," Whiplash agreed with a serge of pride in his mecha and thanks for his lover for reminding him of that truth.

* * *

Jazz lounged next to the heavy rotor agent that would evacuate the new Prime and the Matrix of Leadership if it chose someone here and wished he knew what would happen a bit better. Not even Whiplash had seen this before. He couldn't say the industrial sector of Cybertron, a city that really didn't have any culture to it beyond the manufacturing culture as far as he was concerned, was high on his list of potential success. They were good mecha overall, but Tyger Pax was not a place Jazz visited by choice.

Even the turnout for the procession was small here. There were still thousands of mecha lined up to view the Matrix as it toured the planet, but Jazz suspected that many of the industry workers hadn't been able to leave their shifts to come see. Most of those around him were probably pre-progs, even. 

Taller than Jazz by half, Winnow flicked his rotors to catch Jazz's attention. There was a shifting in the priests closest to the Matrix. Its brightening light became visible to Jazz a short moment later. Then the priests and those closest to the processional paso began to move away with increasing shock and pained hurry.

"Well I'll be scrapped," Jazz murmured, grinning. ::Get over there,:: he commed every agent nearby. ::Don't let the priests try to take the Matrix away from here. Border patrol, _no one leaves._ Everyone in this crowd will touch the Matrix.::

Replies came fast and thick to confirm that the agents, enforcers and soldiers involved in the massive security detail had heard and understood. From his vantage point on a building overlooking the center of the route he saw the movement to confirm he was being obeyed in general, then down to the mecha as he and Winnow focused from the outside of the crowd inwards. As the priests set the ceremonial paso down under the watch and guard of three agents as well as the soldiers specifically assigned to them, Jazz nodded to Winnow. "Keep an optic on those nearby. We don't know what the signal is and we cannot miss it."

"Gotcha," Winnow nodded.

While Jazz fielded the heavily encrypted and securely routed call from Whiplash he also had a line open to the mech in charge of security around the Matrix. ::Ironhide, make sure every single one _touches_ the Matrix.::

::Will do,:: Ironhide replied even as his bellows began to organize what was around him. ::It's going to be easier to do this with the crowd all on one side. Easier to move the Matrix than them.::

::Understood and do it,:: Jazz backed up Ironhide's orders to pick up the ornate paso and move it forward while holding the crowd in place.

From where Jazz stood, he was impressed by the old soldier. Ironhide might not have the political savvy to attain significant rank as an officer, but his manner and age said he was to be respected by all who valued surviving among the rank and file. He could organize. Civilians also responded to him rapidly and the unorganized crowd was allowed to remain loose and sort themselves out for the most part, but once within two dozen paces of the Matrix that milling group was shuffled into two single file lines that funneled by the Matrix. Once a mech touched it and nothing happened, they were turned loose on the far side of the guard line.

By then a dozen fast troop transports had arrived to reinforce the local control efforts with more army soldiers. Jazz was fairly sure they were locals, likely stationed at the same base the ones already on scene were from.

For the numbers that had to be tested, and only one at a time, Jazz wasn't the least bit surprised to see Flamespire roar in and transform to drop to his pedes in front of the Matrix with Whiplash on his shoulder. Overhead flight frames were rapidly converging to watch over events and Jazz recognized both ISO and palace guards as well as those marked as standard army.

No doubt several transports of palace guards would be here before the new Prime was found.

::Everyone settle in,:: Jazz sent out in a mass comm. ::We're going to be at this for a while.::

The size of the crowd didn't seem to ever decrease, no matter how many they filed past the Matrix. Jazz knew Whiplash was keeping a close watch on the priests, who were huddled together and looking anxious. No doubt they were trying to figure out what had happened. It allowed him to focus on the crowd, watching some come through the queue looking hopeful, others terrified. In just joors, thousands had touched the Matrix, and thousands upon thousands more were still waiting. 

As the joors passed those still well back in the crowd became dangerously restless in Jazz's assessment, but he couldn't pick out why. There didn't seem to be any center to it and it didn't spread like any agitation he understood. He was close to comming Whiplash about it when he saw Ironhide and Whiplash have a short conversation, and then the old warrior broadcast an area-wide comm.

::Anyone late to their shift will receive written proof of cause and credits for their lost time. Provide your designation, place of work and shift to the guard with the datapad in front of your line after you touch the Matrix of Leadership.::

Oh, _right._

Jazz felt like an idiot. Of course, they were at shift change and these were workers who probably clocked in more joors than he did just to scrape by. ::Ironhide, when this is over will you stick around here and follow up with managers and overseers? I want to make sure no one loses their energon because of this.::

::Haunt the bars,:: Whiplash said. ::You'll hear soon enough if anyone winds up without work.::

::A'course,:: the old warrior agreed. ::We'll catch anybody scrapped 'cause o' this.::

::Thanks, 'Hide,:: Jazz said.

They waited almost two more joors in relative silence, making their way through almost three quarters of those gathered.

"I'm bored enough to frag a drone," Jazz complained. 

"Not much experience on stakeouts?" Winnow chuckled at him. "This one's exciting compared to most watch-and-wait gigs."

"Oh, I've been stuck on plenty of those, believe me," Jazz said. "If you'd'a been there I'd have called them boring too. Dunno, this is way more monotonous somehow. It's like, each one could be the one, so there's this bit of hope, then bam. Stakeout's dead until it isn't most'a the time. It's--" Jazz perked. "Wait. Look, that's different."

The red, blue and white worker who'd just placed his hand upon the Matrix was standing without moving, staring at it.

::It's glowing,:: Ironhide said, as the light began to be visible from where Jazz was. ::Time to move.::

"L--"

"On it." Winnow interrupted as he transformed. The time to get his blades up to speed was just long enough for Jazz to get on board, and then they were over the action. The light from the Matrix was blinding and when their optics reset Jazz frowned.

::I think he's bigger,:: he commed on the general ISO band.

::It's him. It's our new Prime.:: Whiplash's voice breathed, the trembling tumble of emotions raw enough in it to bring even Jazz up short.

As Winnow began to descend, those gathered backed away to clear enough space. Agents, soldiers, and security all formed a barrier around the new Prime, big enough for the rotor to land. Winnow's hatch slid open and Jazz jumped out and ran to the new Prime.

The wide, blue optics locked onto him. "What's happening?" the mech stammered.

"You're special. I'm Jazz. ISO special agent. Get on board, sir," he answered with the odd mix of differential and commanding that Whiplash had drilled into him for handling those who outranked him but he needed to give orders to.

The mech looked past Jazz at the rotor alt with the open hatch. "Me?"

"Yes, you," Jazz's tone became more insistent as he risked stepping closer to grab an arm and try to guide the stunned being where he wanted him. "We need to go. Now." Priests who had accompanied the Matrix were starting to gather.

The chosen one resisted the pull, looking back into the crowd. Jazz followed his gaze and found the three standing the closest, looking like they wanted to approach, but were too scared to.

"You'll see them again," Jazz lied, "But _only_ if you get in _right now._ "

The mech finally gave a shaky nod and headed that way. Jazz saw the priests glaring at him. Some looked alarmed, others confused, almost all looked angry.

In a way Jazz couldn't blame them. It wasn't like this was a situation even their Barasi had seen. Probably no one still functioning had actually seen this happen.

It didn't really matter. Jazz got the chosen one inside the transport and joined him to ensure nothing went wrong. The atmosphere was already thick with comms from every source and then they were in the air while Jazz and Winnow both listened to the chatter and their air guard fell in around them on all sides, every one of them willing to take a fatal hit to protect the one carrying the new Prime.

Jazz just hoped they managed to reach Iacon before then. He rather expected a transfer to Flamespire as soon as they had a safe place to land. The ultra fast combat shuttle could reach Iacon in a matter of a few joors, but he wasn't quite so good at lifting off in alt mode.

As they reached cruising altitude Whiplash pinged Jazz and demanded full audio-visual access. With an internal grumble Jazz gave it, sure his boss would be able to force it if he really wanted to.

The Prime shifted, and immediately hit his helm in the ceiling. He looked up, shocked, then back to Jazz. "Did I do something wrong?"

"No." Jazz told him firmly. "Do you know what you touched? What the Matrix of Leadership is?"

"Yes, but I--I--I'm not--I didn't mean to--" The Prime moved again, and his shoulder hit the wall. "I didn't mean to make it do that!"

"It's all right, my Lord Prime," Winnow tried to reassure him. "The transport that will take you to Iacon will be more suited to your height."

"The Matrix _chose_ you. What designation did it give you?" Jazz asked, both out of curiosity and to distract the distraught mech in front of him.

"W...what? My..."

Jazz felt Whiplash's attention sharpen.

"But ... no, I'm Orion," the Prime said, and held his palm to his forehelm. "That isn't... I'm ... Optimus?"

"Optimus Prime," Jazz purred in soft appreciation of what it implied and knew his boss was all but vibrating in happiness despite dealing with upset priests. "You'll do right by Cybertron."

"Do I have a choice?" the Prime asked quietly. 

Jazz cocked his helm, curious at such a question. "Of course you have a choice. You can choose not to do right by Cybertron, like too many of your predecessors, and we'll continue down the road we're on. Or you can do right by Cybertron and begin to repair our world before it tears itself apart. Your designation tells me you don't want to see Cybertron extinguish. You are the Prime. The Senate may hold a lot of power, but they don't hold it all."

"But I don't have a choice in being, what you're saying, that I'm the Prime," the chosen one said. 

"Umm, I don't think so. The Matrix _chose_ you because Cybertron _needs_ what you bring to the Primehood," Jazz struggled with the idea of not wanting the ability to change the world. "You saw how many went before you and were not chosen."

"I'm just a dock worker. I'm not _anything._ " 

"That was then, this is now," Jazz tried to be gentle and get through to his new Prime. "Know much about the revolt going on?"

"A little." The Prime shifted uncomfortably. "But I still don't understand. I'm a _pre-prog._ "

_We're no less than them!_

Jazz heard Whiplash's emphatic denial through their connection and knew how badly his boss wanted to be able to say it to their new Prime. He held his vocalizer. He was kindled, it wasn't for him to say. What he could say was another truth.

"So is the mech who currently rules three cities, leveled Praxus and half of Iacon. He was a miner. Even lower than you were. Now you're both leaders and we need you to stop him and what created him." Jazz kept the lesson and history very abbreviated. He knew he didn't have much time before the mech's processors cycled down to try and cope. "Prime," he said gently, and reached out, touching Optimus's knee. "This is a lot. We're going to keep you safe. You should try to settle your processors and your spark. We'll be in Iacon soon, and then you can rest before the work begins."

Optimus looked at him a little pleadingly, like he was hoping Jazz would say it was all a prank, then nodded and looked down at his hands. He opened them, stared, and then closed them again and hunched over in silence. 

* * *

Whiplash shivered in anticipation. All he'd learned through Jazz made him both anticipate and dread bringing this Prime up to speed. Yes, he was a mech of the commoners, a voice to support the changes that needed to happen, but he was also unprepared for his new existence on a level Whiplash couldn't rightly imagine. Sure, Whiplash had been everything from an empty to a royal, but he'd been trained and coded to slip from one caste, class and function to another. 

"I believe you will find this one difficult to keep functioning, and worth the difficulties," Shadow Peace spoke softly as they reached the edge of the Residence, though they would continue along ISO pathways for a time yet.

"Risk of assassination," Whiplash said. "I know. We've been preparing for that."

"Of course, and always good," the priest-scholar said, "But not necessarily what I mean."

"Then what do you mean?" Whiplash asked.

"We're heading into a war, and the Matrix has chosen a gentle spark and designated him _Optimus._ This is not a Prime who will be happy to let others extinguish for him. Rather the opposite."

Whiplash's visor flashed. "He could sacrifice himself."

"That, I think, will be your greatest concern with this one's security," Shadow Peace said.

"Thank you," Whiplash said. "Your insight is as invaluable as always."

Shadow Peace inclined his helm in return and relaxed a bit as they moved between walls and along ceilings to where half a dozen agents and a full contingent of the palace guard were providing various levels of protection for the new Prime.

Sucre came up and nodded to the pair. "He's as aware as anyone's seen him and deeply involved in reading up on his new status. He's still very stressed and uncomfortable with his frame, though I believe he is coming to terms with his fate."

Whiplash reached over to squeeze Sucre's arm. "Thank you," he said. "I'd like you to monitor his emotional state while he transitions."

"Of course," the former courtesan smiled warmly at his lover-leader and turned to walk with them. "He's not much on being touched, but he loves to talk about things other than being the Prime. He seems to have been not only literate but very well self-educated."

"Not the most common for a dock worker."

"Most dock workers aren't chosen by the Matrix," Shadow Peace said.

"I'm hopeful about him," Sucre said.

"More than hopeful," Whiplash murmured.

When they reached the ornate doors of the Prime's personal berthchamber, Sucre slipped away from the pair to take up his rotation in the guard position. Whiplash looked up at the entrance, spark pulsing rapidly, before pinging them to open.

The new Prime was sitting in the middle of the enormous berth, datapads strewn out before him. The first thing that struck Whiplash as he _truly_ looked upon the Prime was how out of place Optimus looked in these surroundings. His rebuild lacked the majestic, excessive beauty of the last Primes. He was handsome, but practical. In many of the lines and colors Whiplash could see the design of his former form. He would need to decide how hard to fight the desire to upgrade Optimus Prime's appearance to previous norms and suspected it would earn him points with Optimus if he made the effort.

Sucre was absolutely right. Optimus was still moving at times as a smaller frame would, though at least he'd been a convoy class before, even if he'd been a small one.

"Hello," Optimus lifted his face and gave Whiplash his full attention.

In it Whiplash could see the weariness dragging him down. He would need to work out how to get this one to rest, and soon. Though first there were introductions and learning a bit from his charge and master himself.

"Optimus Prime," Whiplash said, placing his hand over his spark and bowing his helm. After a moment, he extended his hand towards the Prime. "My designation is Whiplash, I am the commander of Imperial Special Operations. This is Shadow Peace, he is one of the priests who works for me. We're here to serve you, and to help you adjust to this office." 

The big mech nodded and looked around briefly before motioning to the chairs scattered about in the various nooks and created spaces of the great room. "Make yourselves comfortable. What does Imperial Special Operations do?"

"We try our best to keep the planet healthy," Whiplash said as he chose a lounge much too big for him and jumped up to perch on the arm. "I consider my most important duty to be that of protecting you." 

"From what?" Optimus looked at him, openly bewildered. His gaze only shifted off Whiplash briefly to track where Shadow Peace sat down.

Whiplash found that his voice didn't want to stay entirely steady. "You are the first _true_ Prime to bear the Matrix in far too long. There are mecha who won't be happy about that. The position of the Prime has been exploited for power and riches for many generations."

Optimus lifted a hand to his chest, over where the Matrix of Leadership was inside his chest. "Many knew you."

"All but one since the time of Alpha," Whiplash said. "And I have loved and protected every one of them."

There was a long silence as Optimus struggled with something. Whiplash gave him time, and was rewarded with a question not a single Prime before Optimus had ever thought to ask.

"How?" Optimus spoke quietly. "How can one love the likes of ..." he shuddered and his optics flashed. "The ones even Nova rejected."

"That's who I am," Whiplash said. "I am one of a batch of several dozen created to serve, protect, and _love_ Alpha Prime, and every Prime we survived to serve after that."

Optimus turned off his optics and shuttered them for a long moment. "I'm sorry."

That caught Whiplash off guard. "Why?" he asked. 

"No one should be programmed to love someone, or any other emotion. It's one thing to spark a pre-prog to do a job, but to interfere with how one even thinks is wrong," Optimus attempted to explain.

Whiplash cycled his visor and felt his spark stutter in shock. He must have shifted, or maybe it was his field, because Shadow Peace drew up to take Optimus's attention away from him for a moment.

"I believe you'll come to find that such a sentiment has been absent from the highest rulers of our planet for a very long time," the priest said. 

There was a moment of hesitation, then Optimus nodded with a sick grief in his expression and field. "It's easier to be sure of loyalty when it's not even an option."

"Such has been the prevailing belief, yes," Shadow Peace said. "For many of those who were created to serve the Prime and the ruling class."

"How much of that can I stop now?" Optimus focused briefly on what his rank could do at his command.

"One of the few positive effects from the rebellion we face is that such orders have largely been stopped already," Shadow Peace said. "You do, though, have the power to issue mandatory regulations for the parameters new mecha are allowed to be sparked under."

"Soldiers," Whiplash said, finally finding his vocalizer under his control again. "It's still happening to soldiers. Courtesans and other luxury pre-progs aren't in demand right now, but soldiers are being sparked to extreme loyalty." 

"Among other things, I expect," Optimus shuddered. "How many would even fight without that coding? How _can_ we have an all volunteer army quickly?"

"You might not be able to," Whiplash said. "At least, not in the numbers that the rebellion has already amassed, not quickly. It's something to look at more closely. But our soldiers don't need to be sparked without a choice, without respect for _life_ , no ability to feel remorse over their actions. Those are the ones who are eventually breaking down enough to flee to the rebellion. In the past they would have deactivated, now they're just making the enemy stronger." 

Optimus nodded mutely, sickened by the truth even he could see. "You know the military program, Whiplash?"

"Yes, Prime," Whiplash said. 

"I want to see the important points to their coding and recommendations for how to make it non-abusive before the next order is sparked," Optimus gave his first real order, and for a brief moment both agents really saw his potential. A sparkpulse later and his expression was overwhelmed again, grim and sickened and trying hard to be what a Prime needed to be even when he didn't know what exactly that was.

"Yes, Prime," Whiplash said again, bowing his helm. He placed his hand over his spark in reverence to his new leader, soaking in the feeling of having someone for his code to attach to again and the unique feeling of having that mech be one that wasn't just out for himself.

"How are you settling in?" Shadow Peace asked when Whiplash slipped away.

"It is a lot to take in," Optimus admitted with a motion to the multitude of datapads on the berth with him. "I know I need to recharge, but I can't cycle down."

"Would some companionship help?" Shadow Peace asked. "We have very skilled mecha who would ensure a comfortable release."

Optimus's field flushed with embarrassment and some unease. "My mates ... it will be a while before I'm ready for anyone else in my berth."

"Of course," Shadow Peace said, and stood. "I know this may not be comforting right now, but that past will grow easier to let go of. If you have no objection, I will send Sucre back in. Please don't hesitate to contact any of us at any time. We're all here to help you through this transition." 

"I will remember," Optimus nodded, then smiled a bit. "He's pleasant company."

"He is one of the finest ever commissioned, we are lucky to have him," Shadow Peace agreed as he stood, placing his hand over his spark and letting his chest split just enough to let the Prime see the pure white light. "My Prime," he added, before bowing his helm and excusing himself.

Shadow Peace found Sucre quickly, and wasn't surprised to find Whiplash with him.

"Am I going back in?" Sucre asked.

Shadow Peace nodded. "Try to get him to recharge. He's unsettled right now and needs it badly." 

"I'll see he recharges soundly," Sucre promised with his coding only a whisper in the reason he would do all he could to ensure it. With a quick kiss to Whiplash's cheek, Sucre slipped away to return to the mech he had already spent several joors forging a connection with and working to ease his distress.

He found Optimus where he'd left him, sitting on the berth, staring at the document in one hand, then the other.

"Optimus," he trilled. "You know there will be time after rest to learn."

Optimus looked at him and reset his optics. "Is it true?" he asked.

"Is what true, my Prime?" Sucre asked gently, climbing up onto the berth and kneeling before the giant.

"You and others were commissioned to be loyal and to love those you served, without choice?"

Sucre let out a slow x-vent. "Yes, that is true," he said. 

"Who do you serve now?" Optimus asked gently.

"I serve Whiplash, and by proxy, you," Sucre said, settling down with his legs crossed, looking up at the Prime. 

"Does your code demand you love me, if you only serve by proxy?" Optimus prodded a bit.

"Hm." Sucre tilted his helm, thinking about it. "Yes. I have always loved those I serve, I can't help but try to discern what they need in any given moment. I care, I look after, I please, and I love, but it doesn't mean the same thing to me as it would to someone without this code. It took me a long time to learn that."

That had Optimus's curious attention. "What taught you it was different?"

"When I realized that what I feel as love towards those I serve is nothing at all like what I feel towards my mate," Sucre said. His field was warm as he thought about it. "They may have forced us to love, but they couldn't take away our spark's ability to choose who to be with." 

Optimus's field bloomed with a mixture of relief and joy. "I'm glad you found someone you truly love. Will you tell me about it, about the difference? I've never had that kind of code, and it clearly doesn't work the way I assumed."

Sucre smiled at him. "Have you ever looked at someone and just felt _safe_ , knowing they're there?"

Optimus thought about it, trying to pick out anyone that made him feel _safe_ and coming up blank. He knew who he would have run to if he was in trouble. He knew who he cared deeply about. He knew who he was grieving the absence of. "I can't say I do. I'm usually the protector."

Sucre chuckled. "Fair enough. What about _free?_ "

"Yes. It was good with them. No duties, no expectations, we could be ourselves and not just what we were sparked for," Optimus nodded after thinking about it. His field warmed softly with the memories and with far less arousal than Sucre expected given these were his mates.

"Exactly," Sucre said, beaming. "I'm not sure what someone without the kind of code I have feels, but I know when I look at him, it's almost like it isn't there. Like I'm free to be me, like no matter what I do, I'm safe. I can't make a wrong choice, or misinterpret what he wants, because he wants me to do what _I_ want, no matter what that means for him. It was confusing at first, like I was glitching. But once I figured it out..." Sucre smiled. "Safe, and free." 

"A gift from Primus. Not many ever love that much," Optimus's field shivered in a pleasure that was purely emotional and didn't seem to come entirely from the mech. "Tell me about him?"

Sucre smiled at the warmth and began to speak. He kept Whiplash's designation out of it and the Prime never asked. It was almost two breems later when Sucre felt confident enough to move closer. "Would a massage help you relax enough to recharge, my Prime?"

" _Just_ a massage?" Optimus asked carefully. 

" _Just_ a massage," Sucre promised. "I'd be happy to do more for you, but I'm reasonably sure you'd prefer if I didn't go there."

Optimus managed a smile. "That obvious?" 

"To a courtesan sparked into the perfect function? Very much so," Sucre smiled back warmly and moved to begin picking up the datapads so they weren't in the way. "Every line of code and wire in me was created and perfected to pick up what someone wants, even if they aren't sure. A courtesan is designed to be more of a companion than a berth warmer. I was desired by many for my skill at conversation and my extensive knowledge. I loved my function when that was all I was and all I knew, but now I'm free to be anything and I still love it. It feels good to me when I can help others feel good."

Optimus nodded slowly, then x-vented. "Yeah," he said. "A massage would be nice. My frame feels all wrong." 

"I don't doubt it. An extra quarter in height and probably twice as much mass would unsettle anyone," Sucre said agreeably as the datapads were stacked neatly on a berthside table. "Lay however is comfortable. I won't touch what should arouse," he promised.

"Thank you," Optimus said, turning to lay on his front, resting his helm on his arms. 

With a smile and warm, pleased field Sucre began with the Prime's shoulders, focusing on the cables and mechanisms that now had to move more weight in different ways that it was used to. Just because it was more than strong enough to do the job asked of it didn't mean the mech was moving correctly for his new frame.

Just kliks in, his newest charge gave a deep, contented sigh, and Sucre smiled as he continued his work until the new Prime was deep in recharge.

* * *

"'Lash?" Sucre called quietly as he slipped into his lover's quarters. The lights were off, and he didn't want to rouse him if he was resting if he could help it, but silence upon entering could be a fatal mistake, even for them. 

"Mmm, come," Whiplash mumbled, only partially aware. Yet when Sucre reached him black arms reached out for him and the field that came with them was warm and very happy to teek him. "Prime settled?"

"Deep in recharge, and likely to stay that way for some time," Sucre said. They settled in close together on the berth and Sucre got his arms around his lover, pulling him close. "How are you doing?" 

"Good. He needs it," Whiplash nuzzled his lover with a pleasured sound as their frames easily molded to each other. "I'm good. It's just ... to hear a _Prime_ say that compliance coding is wrong, to want to all but outlaw it ... It's amazing. Shocking. I've never heard that before."

"Neither have I," Sucre said, running his fingers over Whiplash's sensor horns, then moving his hand down, first along neck cables, then to a chest port. "Are you processing okay?" 

"Mmm? Oh, I'm fine. He didn't object to us, just doing it to new ones," Whiplash murmured, trying to reassure even as he realized that there was a time when that could have damaged him. "Sometimes why is as important as what."

"You'll understand if I still want to check," Sucre said, nuzzling him, teasing at the port. 

"Sometimes you need to," Whiplash smiled and kissed him with soft affection. "Same reason I check on you."

"Mhmm." Sucre nipped at his mouth as he reached to his own chest and uncoiled the first loop of his cable. He plugged into his lover and pinged for access beyond the firewalls even as they were being taken down. ~Let's just take a quick peek and make sure everything is running smooth,~ he purred, sending over a little pulse of charge. 

Whiplash moaned and submitted with a willing joy and anticipation at the connection. Every firewall he had control of dissolved before Sucre's presence and Whiplash welcomed his love in as deeply as Sucre was willing to go.

While Sucre's primary goal in the connection was to make sure there were no hints of a glitch caused by the new Prime's words, he made sure the process felt good for Whiplash. Little bits of charge followed after him as he searched, moving through familiar code. Whiplash just felt the cascade of crackling pleasure following everywhere his lover touched and was purring within kliks.

When Sucre was satisfied with his lover's stability, he kissed him. ~Running as smoothly as ever,~ he said. 

~Good,~ Whiplash moaned and shivered and began to pulse energy back to his love intentionally.

They played back and forth with the charge, just enjoying the relaxing and being together. Teasing, playful flicks traveled back and forth across the cable, until frames were almost buzzing with it.

~Spark. Want your spark.~ Whiplash shuddered and unlocked his chest armor.

~ _Yes!_ ~ Sucre's spark surged forward, meeting Whiplash's as soon as his chest opened. He was desperate to taste his mate during the first moments of a new Prime. A _good_ Prime. The sweet, whole-feeling joy that poured into his spark from Whiplash's was every bit as intoxicating as he hoped and even more. There were no glyphs to describe how pleasurably, wonderfully, blissfully perfect the love and joy in Whiplash's spark was. In those incredible emotions Sucre recognized the difference between what Whiplash felt for him and what Whiplash felt for this new master. They were close, but the most marked difference was that the protection and care were reversed between the two. Whiplash protected the Prime, but Sucre protected Whiplash.

~So sweet,~ Sucre sighed happily. His spark was just as blissful as Whiplash's over such a pure servant of Primus finally bearing the Matrix. Sharing that joy with his mate was incredible. 

_Finally._

**Author's Note:**

> nanoklik = 1/8 second;  
> klik = 496 nanokliks/62 seconds;  
> breem = 8 kliks/8.27 minutes;  
> groon = 9 breem/1.24 hours;  
> joor = 6 groon/7.44 hours;  
> orn = 42 joor/13.02 days;  
> decaorn = 32 orns/1.14 years;  
> metacycle = 8 decaorn/9.22 years;  
> vorn = 9 metacycles/72 decaorn/83 years;  
> ::text:: comm chatter  
> ~text~ hardline/bond chatter
> 
>  
> 
> ~~If anyone knows what the platform device (not the statue on it) is call beyond a 'litter' I'd love to know.~~  
>  ~~Specifically it has more than four people supporting it and is of religious importance.~~  
>  ~~~~  
> <https://dkimhr3aqp8oz.cloudfront.net/wp-content/uploads/2013/03/virgin-mary-holy-week-parade-guatemala2.jpg>  
>   
> 
> Edit: Thanks to all those who offered suggestions. [Paso](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Paso) turned out to be exactly what we were looking for.


End file.
